


i wanna get you in a tongue twister

by aimerai



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimerai/pseuds/aimerai
Summary: “This was fun, though. I’d be up for doing it again the next time you’ve got too much energy. It’s a lot better than you almost getting us both broken arms.”“Seriously, Dante?”“I know you, and it’s not like this wasn’t fun for me, too.”“I might just take you up on that.”Or: Five times Mat and Dante kissed platonically, and one time that it was more than that.





	i wanna get you in a tongue twister

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Hailey and Ash for editing this late at night when I finished, and to Nat for encouraging me and laughing as it got so much longer than expected, and everyone else who encouraged me when I thought I would never finish. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: if you or anyone you know is mentioned in this fic, just click away now and save us both the embarrassment.

There’s mistletoe hanging from the ceiling in the entryway, because it’s Christmas, and apparently people actually do put up mistletoe in their houses for fun or whatever, and it’s not just a thing in movies. Dante is going to do his absolute best to not get caught under it at all, because he’s not in the mood to kiss strangers. Luckily, he’s here early, so he doesn’t have to be under it at the same time as someone else right now. If he leaves early, he’ll probably be able to escape it entirely. The only reason he’s even here early is because his mother sent him ahead with the food that she’s providing, so it can be properly reheated or whatever. Dante hadn’t been paying very close attention, but he’s grateful anyway. 

A pair of hands come down on his shoulders just as a very familiar voice asks from behind him, “What’s got you so distracted?”

“Hey, Mat,” Dante grins, turning around and shaking Mat’s hands off of him. Mat looks good, of course, because he doesn’t know how not to, even with his hair being the way it is. “How much product did you even put in your hair?”

Mat looks mildly offended and ready to respond with some kind of protest about it not actually being that bad, but his eyes have been caught by the mistletoe. “Oh,” Mat says, his voice sounding off. 

Dante scrunches up his face in distaste. “Yeah. Campy as fuck.”

Mat’s eyes are tracking between the mistletoe and Dante, and there’s a look on his face that Dante’s not quite sure how to interpret. It’s quickly replaced by the smirk that Mat uses on the ice that makes other players want to punch him in the face, just as he says, suggestively, “We’re right under it.”

Dante knows his face is flushing, but he can’t help it, not with Mat saying shit like that out of nowhere. He doesn’t know why Mat would even say that; there’s no one else to see them both under the mistletoe. “Dude, there’s no one here, you don’t have to—”

On second thought, Dante should really have noticed the manic glint in Mat’s eyes, because he’s currently kissing Dante, and honestly? It’s not a bad kiss. It’s not a bad kiss at all. It’s so much better than their first kiss, which is on a list of things they’re never supposed to bring up, but Mat’s got experience now and he’s cocky with it, a hand on the side of Dante’s neck gently nudging him into a better position, sucking on Dante’s lower lip in a way that’s maddening. 

It’s only when Mat finally pulls away that he looks a little sheepish, his hand falling away from the side of Dante’s neck. Dante shouldn’t miss its warmth as much as he does. He looks at Mat and wants to kiss him again, settles instead for a smile almost as sleazy as Mat’s can get. “I know I’m irresistible, but really, Mat?”

Mat’s face clears up and he starts laughing. “Sorry, sorry, I was just...”

“In a mood,” Dante finishes for him, because no fucking shit, Mat. Now that Dante’s paying attention, he can see it on Mat, who looks ready to vibrate out of his own skin in a way that used to mean Mat would try to drag Dante into doing something unbelievably stupid, not that Dante would ever resist too hard. “This is a new way to get rid of all that extra energy.”

Mat smirks, passes a hand over his hair. “Didn’t see you complaining.” As smooth as he tries to sound, it’s dumb as fuck because Dante knows him too well to ever be taken in. But underneath the confident front is a note of uncertainty.

“Some warning would be nice, next time,” Dante says, grinning at Mat. He’s not mad, or bothered, or whatever it is that Mat’s worried about. A little surprised, yeah, but none of this is all that out of character for Mat, and Dante would do almost anything for Mat anyway. “Now, since you’re here, you can help me get all this stuff into the kitchen.”

Of course, Dante didn’t realise then that Mat would take it literally, dragging him away from the party and into what Dante is pretty sure is someone’s bedroom. Mat’s holding up a sprig of mistletoe and waggling his eyebrows. Dante rolls his eyes at Mat. “Really? Couldn’t fool anyone else into kissing you?”

Mat pouts. It’s unfortunately adorable. “You said you wanted some warning next time, and besides, no one in this party is you.”

That’s almost sweet, and Dante does want to kiss him, because with Mat there’s no expectations or awkwardness. They’ll still be bros at the end of the night. “If you throw away the mistletoe, fine. I would’ve said yes, anyway.”

“Done,” Mat says, letting it drop, closing the space between them so he can cup Dante’s face and bring their lips together. Dante kisses back immediately this time, gets Mat's lower lip between his teeth and tugs gently, tries and fails to not feel smug when Mat's fingers seize slightly. It’s messy at first. The two of them have never really kissed like this, with the intent to learn each other’s mouths, but once they get used to each other, it’s almost too easy. Dante gets lost in it, in lips and teeth and tongues, in discovering that if he sucks on Mat’s tongue, Mat melts under his hands like butter, pliant, letting out the tiniest little sigh when their mouths break apart before finding each other again. Mat finds the sensitive spot Dante has right by the edge of his jaw, and Dante has to breathlessly remind him not to leave a mark. It doesn’t stop Mat from coming back to it over and over and over again, but he’s careful about it, and that’s almost worse, teasing brushes of his lips until Dante feels like he’s going to fly apart.

The sound of footsteps outside the room makes them spring apart, both of them breathing hard, waiting to see if someone’s going to open the door on them. Dante’s heart is racing, but it’s definitely more because of Mat than the possibility that they’ll get caught. When the footsteps fade away, they both let out sighs of relief, but still. Dante’s mouth is a little sore, which means they’ve been at it for longer than he’d thought. 

“We should probably go back,” Dante whispers reluctantly. 

Mat makes a face, shoving his hands into his pockets. He’s not happy about it at all, and Dante doesn’t blame him. He’d much rather stay in this room and make out with Mat; it’s a lot more fun than everything downstairs. “Yeah, probably.”

Dante smiles at him, lets himself kiss the downturned corner of Mat’s mouth. “This was fun, though. I’d be up for doing it again the next time you’ve got too much energy. It’s a lot better than you almost getting us both broken arms.”

Mat laughs, but the look on his face is complicated. “Seriously, Dante?”

Dante half-shrugs. “I know you, and it’s not like this wasn’t fun for me, too.”

Mat’s smiling at the ground, kinda dopily, and Dante resists the urge to make fun of him for it. “I might just take you up on that.”

He does, of course. Dante knew he would, once given permission. Mat isn’t the kind of person who denies himself the things he can have. 

* * *

Dante’s not expecting the push and, caught off-balance, he stumbles and falls into the pool. Honestly, that was probably Mat’s goal anyway; he’s a shit like that. Dante’s spluttering as he comes back up, ready to splash Mat something vicious in retaliation, except Mat is jumping in after him with a slightly excessive cannonball, because he doesn’t know how not to show off.

Mat swims straight to him, grinning like he’s about to say something particularly clever. “Hey, I thought you might need some mouth-to-mouth after I pushed you in.”

Dante stares at him in disbelief. Mat didn’t just—except he did. “How does anyone think you’re anything but lame?” Dante asks, trying to push down the giggles.

Mat just shrugs, his smile turning a little shy. “Maybe they just don’t know me like you know me.” Dante thinks he’s warranted in feeling proud about that; Mat’s difficult for the sake of being difficult all the time, but he’s almost as easy as breathing for Dante. 

“Well, are you going to kiss me or not?” Dante asks, pouting just slightly for show. “You need to make up for pushing me in, you know.”

Mat makes a considering humming noise, like he would ever actually say no, and Dante rolls his eyes. Mat thinks he can get Dante to beg him for a kiss, just like that. And it’s not that Dante wouldn’t if he had to, but he doesn’t have to when Mat will do it for him. 

Dante pouts a little harder. “This is a limited time offer, Mat.”

“Fine, fine, I guess there’s worse things I could be doing,” Mat says, but he’s grinning like he thinks he’s hot shit. Just for that, Dante splashes him in the face and laughs at how tragically betrayed Mat looks afterwards. 

“Worse things? Please, Mat, as if I’d ever—” Dante starts, his voice dying when he sees the almost unbearable intensity on Mat’s face. 

“I lied, idiot,  you’re the best thing always,” Mat says, almost smiling as he sways into Dante’s space to kiss him. 

He tastes faintly like chlorine at first, but his mouth is warm compared to the chill of the water, and, not for the first time, Dante thinks that whoever taught Mat to kiss did a good job. He presses closer to cup Mat’s jaw and give at least as good as he gets. The sound he makes when Dante presses his teeth against Mat’s lower lip is gratifying, and comes with Mat finally getting his hands on Dante, running his hands up and down his sides. Dante’s learned that Mat likes it a little rough, sometimes. He likes teeth, and he likes being marked up, and he has all these sensitive spots on his neck that Dante would be happy to mark up, except that Mat wouldn’t be able to explain them away as easily this time. 

Dante still lets his lips brush against them and maybe he sucks a little, because it makes Mat’s breath get all shaky in a way that’s really, really satisfying. Occasionally, he lets out a tiny whine, and Dante sucks just a bit harder, but still not hard enough to leave visible marks. Mat’s tan enough right now that the pink fades quickly, and it has the added benefit of Mat moving closer, their chests almost touching. He always ends up back at Mat’s mouth, anyway, doing his level best to make him fall apart. 

Mat is the one who pulls away, breathing heavily, his composure nowhere to be found. One of his hands is gripping Dante’s hip so hard it’s almost painful, but Dante kinda likes it. The other is splayed across Dante’s lower back, the tips of a couple of Mat’s fingers dipping under Dante’s waistband. It’s not weird unless they make it weird, so Dante doesn’t call his attention to it. Besides, Dante’s still cupping his cheek, he’s pretty sure he can’t really throw stones. 

Mat licks his swollen, red lips, drawing Dante’s attention there again, and his face must telegraph his thoughts pretty clearly, because Mat laughs a little breathlessly. “Haven’t had enough yet?”

“Did you want to stop?” Dante asks, raising an eyebrow, hoping his face looks bland and a little challenging. Mat finding out that Dante has his  _ thing _ about Mat is top ten for nightmare situations, and surely he’s not that obvious. He can’t be that obvious. 

Mat looks a little bit unsteady, and bites his lower lip, which—Dante’s only human, and Mat is a lot. “Well, not really. Did you?” Does he actually think Dante’s going to say no, when Dante’s still cupping his face?

“Not really,” Dante says, hoping that it sounds at least a little bit chill. He’s never going to have any kind of dignity when it comes to Mat, but he can try to pretend otherwise. 

Mat’s smiling at him, no hint of teasing or anything, just genuine as fuck, small and soft, and Dante isn’t really equipped to handle that right now, so he kisses the corners of Mat’s smile, which becomes a full-blown thing, brighter than the sun, and that’s not really helping the twisting feeling in Dante’s gut settle at all. He can’t bring himself to be anything but sweet when he kisses Mat again, but Mat is just as sweet kissing him back. It’s gentler than they usually are, almost romantic, and he really can’t stop himself from stroking Mat’s cheekbone with his thumb as they kiss.

Mat is the one who pulls away again, an unreadable expression in his eyes, and Dante worries that he’s been too transparent. Mat frowns exaggeratedly, “We should probably get out before we start pruning.”

Dante tries not to laugh as he lets go of Mat, and Mat lets go of him, making for the edge of the pool. Mat pulls himself out of the pool using only his considerable upper body strength, and Dante watches appreciatively. Mat’s already summer tan, and there’s water dripping down his back as the muscles flex, and Dante’s—well. Dante has always been weak for Mat. This is nothing new. But maybe it is, because Dante’s eyes are pretty much glued to Mat’s back. Usually he has better self-control than to be that blatant, but all this kissing has been fucking with his head. 

Mat crows victoriously and shakes himself off, standing at the edge of the pool, looking down at Dante. “Are you just planning to stay in there till you’re a raisin?”

Dante snickers, because Mat somehow hasn’t noticed. “Think it’s a little late for that. We’re both already pruning.”

Mat looks down at his hands like he genuinely didn’t realise how long they’d been in there. He’s so dumb. “I didn’t even realise.”

Dante tries not to laugh, but it’s a losing cause, and Mat’s smiling too, faintly embarrassed around the edges. 

“You should help me out,” Dante says, holding out his hands, keeping his face as guileless as possible. 

The second Mat grabs them, Dante pulls and gets out of the way as Mat splashes back into the pool, swearing a blue streak as he rights himself, running a hand through his hair so that it stops dripping in his eyes. 

“Really?” Mat asks, trying for deadpan, but his voice wavers with hidden laughter. 

“You asked for it,” Dante shrugs. This feels normal again, except Mat’s lips are still so, so red.

Mat frowns and makes like he’s going to splash Dante, before reconsidering. “You should kiss it better,” Mat says, grinning smugly, like he’s getting away with something. 

“What about pruning?” Dante teases. 

“You betrayed me; kissing it better is more important,” Mat says. He’s so full of shit. 

Dante’s told him time and time again that he doesn’t need to get tricked into kissing Mat, and somehow Mat still doesn’t get it. Dante crowds himself into Mat’s space, wraps his arms around Mat, and kisses him. Maybe it’ll stick more with repetition. 

* * *

Mat is slightly more than slightly drunk, swaying into Dante’s space in the dark corner where he settled, talked out for the moment. He followed Mat to this party, and there aren’t that many familiar faces. “You have a little something, right here,” Mat whispers, so close to Dante that their lips are almost brushing, and punctuates the end of his sentence with a kiss. 

Dante breaks away, laughing helplessly, his forehead pressed against Mat’s, who looks entirely too pleased with himself. He’s giggling a little, like the total dork he pretends not to be most of the time. “Not here, there are people.”

Mat lets out a short, victorious cheer, presumably because he thought Dante was going to say no outright. He’s so lame; Dante likes him so much. “Bathroom?”

Dante picks up his solo cup and drains it, the alcohol burning down his throat nowhere near as warm as the look Mat’s giving him. “Lead the way.”

Mat laces their fingers together, and honestly, it’s the most practical thing to do when they have to wade through as many people as they do, but being palm-to-palm almost feels like the most intimate thing they’ve ever done, even though they’ve had their tongues down each other’s throats. 

They make it to a bathroom—upstairs, because it’s less likely to end with them being interrupted. The second the door is locked behind them, Dante lets go of Mat’s hand so he can hop up onto the counter and pull Mat in by his belt loops. Mat comes willingly, smiling this soft, small smile at Dante that makes his heart lurch in his chest. 

“Hey,” Dante says, leaning in. 

“Hi,” Mat says, his smile lopsided but no less genuine, closing the distance between them. 

Dante pulls away after a few moments. “Were you drinking like. Paint thinner and artificial fruit?”

Mat shrugs. “There was jungle juice.”

“I don’t like it,” Dante says, because he doesn’t. He’d rather just taste Mat’s mouth. “It’s awful, how do you drink that stuff?”

“Kiss it away, if it bothers you that much,” Mat challenges, smirking, because he’s an asshole who knows exactly how to trigger Dante’s competitiveness. Mat sways closer, lips brushing against Dante’s, before he kisses harder, aggressive with his tongue. Dante can taste that weird artificial berry again. 

Oh, it’s so fucking on. Dante pulls Mat closer to him, cages him in between his legs. Mat makes a noise into Dante’s mouth, pulls away and tries to hide his face in Dante’s neck like he’s embarrassed. Dante strokes one of Mat’s excellent arms, braced against the counter on either side of him, pinning him in so he can only move closer to Mat. He runs his hand up the side of Mat’s neck, feels his throat working under Dante’s palm as Mat shivers slightly.

“Are you good?” Dante asks softly. He doesn’t know why Mat’s embarrassed, because that little moan had been really fucking hot, but it’s obvious that he is, even if Mat’s trying to distract Dante by kissing his collarbone.

“Yeah,” Mat says, finally looking up. He’s appealingly pink, lips slightly swollen and eyes dark. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He presses in closer, kisses the underside of Dante’s jaw, and continues up, lips skimming across skin until they meet Dante’s again. Dante buries a hand in Mat’s hair, uses it to lead Mat the way he wants to, and the two of them are drunk enough that they’re sloppy, but that doesn’t make it any less good. Mat follows Dante when Dante pulls his hair, dropping his head back and exposing his throat. Dante lets himself admire the sight for a moment before he sets his mouth to Mat’s throat with the intent to bruise. Mat can figure out how to explain it away later, because he’s encouraging Dante with moans and the occasional breathy swear, and Dante’s never really been able to say no to him. 

There’s a loud knock on the door that startles both of them. 

“What?” Mat snaps at the door, head still tilted back. 

“Oh for—seriously Mat?” The person on the other side of the door asks. 

Mat sighs. “Fine, we’ll be out in five.”

Dante laughs. “This happens to you a lot?”

Mat drops his head so he can look at Dante. He looks slightly amused. “It’s possible that I have a reputation.”

Dante lets out the most scandalised gasp he can when he’s trying not to start laughing. “So, what, I’m just another in your line of conquests? I thought we had something special, Mathew!”

Mat actually does start laughing at that, and Dante follows him. “You—you’re so full of shit, shut up. And anyway, just say the word, and you’ll be my forever girl, baby.” 

And Dante knows it’s just Mat teasing, even if he used that low, serious voice while saying it, but it makes something in his gut twist pleasantly. Dante chooses to press a kiss to the corner of Mat’s mouth. “You couldn’t handle me, sweetheart. And we only have, what, four more minutes?”

Mat sighs regretfully, looks more put out than he has any right to. “Well, it was worth a shot. Do I get a kiss as a consolation prize? Since you just brutally stomped all over my heart?”

Dante pretends to consider it, and then smiles at him, wrapping his arms around Mat’s neck. “Guess it’s the least I could do.”

The two of them don’t have the time to really get back into it, settling for trading slow kisses, more lips than tongue or teeth. Mat breaks away first, sighing. “We better get back out there.”

“Yeah,” Dante agrees reluctantly. “I’ll go out first?”

Mat frowns and kisses Dante again, chaste but lingering. “I’ll check outside for you.”

Dante finally takes his hands out of Mat’s hair, lets his hands trail down Mat’s chest, pretends not to notice the way Mat’s breath quickens, because if he notices, he might not be able to let him go. “Thanks, Mat.”

“Least I can do,” Mat says, kissing Dante one last time before pulling away to open the door and check the hallway outside. He gives Dante the all-clear signal, and Dante finally hops off the counter. He kisses the apple of Mat’s cheek as he passes by him, and Mat smiles at him and just for a moment holds Dante’s wrist like he really is going to pull Dante back into the bathroom, to hell with everyone at this party. Mat squeezes tighter and then lets go. Dante takes a moment to press this Mat into his memory, hair disheveled and neck marked up and lips red, and then leaves to head back down the stairs and into the general party. 

He settles into a corner of the room and waits for Mat to reappear. And when he does reappear, Dante tries his hardest not to laugh. He’s lucky his hair is the way it is—no one can tell what he’s been up to. Mat, however, comes down the stairs running a hand through his hair, like that’s going to make things any better when he still looks debauched.

Dante starts to make his way over to Mat, who’s scanning the room and smiles crookedly when he sees Dante. By the time he does, there’s a small group of people by him, including one who sounds an awful lot like the person who’d knocked on the door and ended their make out session. 

“Seriously, Mat?” Someone else laughs. “Your charm already pick up someone?”

Mat’s blushing a little, and he takes a solo cup away from someone, only to down the entirety of it, and return the cup. “I don’t kiss and tell.” 

That’s met with a chorus of boos, and Dante joins them in heckling Mat, poking the faint hickey he left just above the base of Mat’s neck, the one that had made Mat let out a loud, strangled moan. “Looks like you had a real good time, eh?” He asks casually. Immediately, everyone else picks up on it, making fun of Mat and his tendency to disappear. Apparently, this is the first time he’s come back all marked up. 

Dante presses down a little harder, and he can tell Mat is trying not to make a noise, throwing a very heated look at Dante, looking frustrated and embarrassed and a little turned on. It looks good on him, and Dante would happily drag him back to the bathroom, even though he knows they won’t be able to get away again. 

Mat doesn’t leave his side for the rest of the night. Dante tries not to feel smug about it, and fails. 

* * *

Mat looks totally wrecked, and it makes Dante’s heart hurt more than it is already. His voice is raw, and his eyes are haunted with what Dante  _ knows _ is last year’s sixth place finish. “Can I—like, I need at least six strong drinks first, but, later?” 

“We can make a good memory to leave on, or whatever,” Dante says, agreeing almost instantly. Mat drunk, with that kind of jitter in his bones, is a Mat that’s going to make bad decisions, and anyway, it’s never been a hardship to kiss Mat. They’re good at each other. 

“You did good, and it’s not your fault, and I’m proud of you, but it’s time to drink to forget,” Mat almost smiles but his voice cracked on the word ‘fault,’ and shook its way through that entire sentence, and never mind that Dante thought his heart broke on the ice, it shattered just now, watching Mat pretending he’s still responsible for Dante or any of these boys, like the A he wore is still valid when the tournament’s over. Mat will find him later, now that he has permission, but he’s putting aside his own personal heartbreak aside to serve as an A one last time. It’s okay for Dante to see him weak and hear his misery in its entirety when Dante knows him better than anyone else in this room, but Mat’s already plastering on the facade. He’s not happy, but he’s resolute, setting his shoulders and wiping his eyes, getting ready to do what he can to ease everyone’s sadness but his own. 

Dante takes his first shot with Mat—it’s only right, the two of them clinking bottles of hard liquor together in a mock toast, because who gives a fuck about glasses when they’re trying to erase the last few hours from their memories. They tip a lot more than a shot of whatever cheap, strong liquor they could get their hands on into their mouths, burning as it goes down. And then Mat’s off being responsible, because he learned to grow up while him and Dante were busy playing on different teams in different places. Dante loses track of him but gets caught up with some of the other d-men as they continue their pity party. 

Mat reappears by partly-crashing, partly-stumbling into Dante’s lap, loose and sloppy and so, so sad, and Dante won’t tell anyone about the tears quietly dripping into his neck. Those are just for him, and to everyone else it’ll just look like Mat’s had too much to drink and can’t handle it. Dante tries to provide whatever comfort he can, rubbing slow circles into Mat’s back as Jake talks about something he tuned out of the second Mat landed in his lap. Mat is Dante’s number one priority, too used to being public and abrasive and cocky to let anyone see him cry more than he has to, but Dante’s not anyone. 

Mat cries himself out eventually, but Dante keeps rubbing his back. Mat deserves comfort, and kisses, and someone who loves him, and if Dante’s the only one who can currently provide all three things, well, good. He can take care of Mat because he knows Mat better than anyone, and he tries to tune back into the conversation happening around him, but it’s useless when Mat is right here and so fucking sad. Eventually, Mat resettles, lying down with his head in Dante’s lap, his face buried in Dante’s hip. Dante works his hand into Mat’s hair, pets it gently, and asks Tys, who’s passing by, to get a blanket from one of the beds. 

Tyson eyes him and Mat with a look that Dante can’t parse on his face, but brings back a blanket anyway, which Dante uses to cover Mat, who isn’t as done crying as Dante assumed. He’s sniffling slightly, and Dante can feel him trying to contain his sobs, shuddering. No one here will think any less of him for crying, but he still won’t do it out of a misplaced sense of responsibility. He makes Dante’s heart hurt more than losing did. 

“Do you want kisses now?” Dante asks softly. 

Mat shakes his head, keeps his face hidden from view. “A little later, please,” he says, his breath hitching slightly. 

Dante runs his hand through Mat’s hair and lets it settle, wrapped around the back of Mat’s neck. “Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

He doesn’t know how much time passes, only that he starts drinking water with his alcohol, when Mat finally looks up, his eyes red but looking hopeful. “Now?”

“You wanna stay here?” Dante asks. They’re already in a corner of the room, and everyone else is probably too fucking drunk to notice or care. 

Mat pauses and nods decisively, finally lifting his head out of Dante’s lap. He looks almost shy, gathering the blanket as he climbs into Dante’s lap and wrapping it around both of them. “Thanks,” Mat says softly. “For the blanket.”

“No problem,” Dante says, wrapping his arms around Mat’s waist and leaning forward just enough to kiss him. He’d give Mat a lot more than just a blanket without thinking twice about it. Dante keeps the kisses gentle, tries to tell Mat with every press of his lips that this is not just on him, that, at the end of the day, Dante still loves him, but they don’t stay that way. There’s something needy under the gentleness, and the longer they kiss, the more desperate their kisses get. 

It’s not fucking fair, that they lost in a fucking shootout, that they had to listen to the American team celebrate on Canadian soil, that Mat’s lips taste like salt and vodka. Dante will get a chance at revenge; this was Mat’s. But they can have this, can have each other and kisses greedier than they need to be. They’ve done this before, and they’ll do it again, of that Dante has no doubt. 

He lets his hands slip under Mat’s shirt, runs them over Mat’s back, tries to pull Mat closer to him even though they’re already so close. Mat’s tangling his fingers in the back of Dante’s hair and kissing him like he’s never going to get another shot at it, and Dante’s blocking out everything else to focus on Mat and his mouth to kiss him like he deserves. Some kind of tension in Mat’s spine uncoils the longer that they kiss, until he’s pliant in Dante’s lap. They kiss until Dante’s mouth feels almost too tender, and he breaks away. Dante discovered a while ago that time doesn’t work normally when he’s kissing Mat. What feels like minutes is always a lot longer.

Mat looks like a weight’s been lifted off of his shoulders, and his eyes are red, and Dante’s overwhelmed with affection for this boy, tightens his hold on Mat and indulges in the impulse to kiss the corners of his eyes. Mat smiles, shaky and small, but it’s real, and that’s all that Dante can ask for right now. Dante kisses his eyelids this time, and considers kissing Mat’s smile, but before he can make a decision, Mat kisses him instead.

“Thank you,” Mat says, pulling away just far enough to press their foreheads together, cradling Dante’s face. “This would’ve been so much harder without you.”

“Anything for you,” Dante says honestly, equal parts alcohol and because anything less than the truth would be cheap right now.

Mat rubs his thumb over Dante’s cheekbone, and it’s so gentle that it almost hurts. “You too,” he whispers, and when he kisses Dante again, it’s sweet and soft, and Dante wants to cry, a little bit, and he’s not entirely sure why. 

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” Mat asks, breaking away. “I just—I don’t want to be alone.” His voice cracks painfully, and Dante doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts any more than Mat does.

“Of course,” Dante says, letting himself tuck a strand of Mat’s hair behind his ear. “You wanna leave now?”

“After you finish your water,” Mat says, looking relieved. “We’re both going to be hungover as shit tomorrow.”

“I’ll finish it on the way there,” Dante argues, reluctantly slipping his his other hand out from under the back of Mat’s shirt.

They end up splitting the bottle of water between them, holding hands as they walk down the hallway to Mat’s room. It’s so late that no one’s going to see them, and Dante needs the comfort more than he cares about being seen, anyway, and he’s pretty sure it’s the same for Mat. 

Mat strips out of his pants the second the door closes behind him, swaps out his shirt for one a lot more worn out. He looks so soft that Dante wants to shield him from the rest of the world. They don’t deserve to have messy-haired, ready-for-bed Mat. Dante chooses to sleep shirtless, stealing a pair of Mat’s sweats. Unfortunately, they’re T-Birds gear, but Mat looks almost amused by it, proceeding to manhandle him into bed the way he wants, choosing to be big spoon, tucking his face into Dante’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. Dante tangles his fingers with Mat’s, feels Mat smile against his skin, and ignores the way his heart just twisted. They breathe in the silence together, Dante’s shoulder feeling hypersensitive to Mat’s every breath. 

What feels like ages later, Mat pulls on him a little with their intertwined hands, bringing him closer. “Hey, Dante?”

“Yeah?” Dante asks.

“You—this was the best thing from this tournament,” Mat says, sleepily. 

Dante’s glad that Mat can’t see his face, because he knows he’s blushing an embarrassing amount, but he can’t hide the way those words make him feel, warm and maybe a little close to okay. “Yeah, same.” And it’s not even remotely the same thing for the two of them, but Mat kisses his shoulder anyway. 

“Mat?” Dante says, a few minutes later, maybe a little urgently, only because he needs Mat to know this. “Love you.”

Mat kisses his shoulder again. “I know. Love you too.”

Dante finally falls asleep buoyed on how that makes him feel. 

The realisation that his feelings for Mat might be Capital-F Feelings is going to have to wait till tomorrow. 

* * *

There’s a knock on his bedroom door, and Dante gets up to unlock the door to find himself face to face with Mat. 

“Your mom let me in,” Mat says, smiling at Dante. He’s—he looks so good that it’s a little unfair, even though he’s lost weight with the end of the season. 

Numbly, Dante moves to the side so Mat can come in and locks his door again, turning to find Mat standing almost too close. “I’ve been back for like three hours,” Dante says, because apparently his brain-to-mouth filter is dead. “How did you even—”

“Mom powers,” Mat says, grinning like he thinks it’s hilarious. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Dante says, his mind still stuck on Mat being here, in his room, the first person he’s seen that isn’t his parents. 

Mat’s smile is softer but still intense, as he blatantly checks Dante out, top to bottom, before leaning into Dante’s space. Dante knows exactly where this is going but doesn’t try to stop him at all, grinning back at Mat. This is something he can still do, even if Mat’s short-circuited his brain a little. Mat’s hands come up to cradle the back of his head, and he crowds Dante back against the door so he can do his best to kiss the breath out of him. Dante responds just as enthusiastically, holding on to Mat’s hips and pulling him closer. 

“God,” Mat says, finally pulling away from Dante, but staying close enough that they’re sharing breaths. “I missed you so fucking much.”

There’s something so raw and honest about the way that Mat says it that Dante can’t help but flush. He’s so fucking easy for Mat Barzal—always has been, always will be. But when Mat says things like this, it’s hard not to be. 

“Me too,” Dante says, using the hold he has on Mat’s waist to switch their positions, gently slamming Mat back against the door, careful to make sure his head doesn’t hit the door. 

Mat’s eyes are dark, and he’s sucking on his lower lip, something almost challenging in his eyes. Dante kisses him and doesn’t consider dropping to his knees. He  _ doesn’t _ . He kisses Mat harder, takes his tipped back head as an invitation to mark up Mat’s neck, lets satisfaction bloom in his chest when Mat moans. He only stops when Mat pulls his hair, and goes back to kissing Mat, who’s pushed back against the door like it’s the only thing holding him up. When Mat pulls away, he’s breathing harshly, his cheeks flushed. 

He has a visible hickey right by the hollow of his throat that Dante barely remembers leaving, but it’s one of the places where Mat is usually super sensitive. Dante lays a hand over Mat’s collarbone, runs his thumb across the dip between Mat’s collarbone, stops with his thumb right over Mat’s hickey. Mat swallows, his eyes fluttering shut, and Dante can feel the muscles shifting under his thumb. If he moved his hand up, he’d be able to wrap it around Mat’s throat, but that’s not what he wants from Mat. Instead, he presses down a little on Mat’s hickey, and Mat’s teeth sink into his lower lip in an effort to keep from making noise. Dante strokes the side of Mat’s throat with his thumb a couple of times, as light as he can, before finally stopping at the hickey again. He presses down harder this time, rewarded by Mat moaning, still biting his lip. It’s so, so hot. 

Mat’s eyes, when he opens them, have only the thinnest ring of colour. He looks at Dante like he’s going to devour him, and Dante’s the one pressing him into the door, Dante’s the one with his hand practically wrapped around Mat’s throat, but he’s definitely not the one in control. One of Mat’s hands comes up to wrap around Dante’s wrist and hold his hand in place, and he kisses Dante like he’s got something to prove, filthy and just a little bit mean. When Dante pulls away, Mat follows his mouth, scrapes his teeth harshly over Dante’s lower lip, and finally lets Dante go. 

“Really, Mat?” Dante asks, running his tongue over his lower lip. If he’s lucky, it won’t look swollen tomorrow. He doesn’t think he’s going to get lucky. 

Mat’s cheeks are a little pink, but he looks totally unrepentant. “It’s—I missed you a lot.”

He sounds so earnest, and the expression on his face is killing Dante a little bit, because he could fool himself into thinking that he can have this forever. Dante’s reached the point where he can’t run away from the way his chest wants to burst open when Mat smiles at him like he’s everything. It’s such a contrast to Mat just moments ago, whose eyes had practically been eating Dante alive, and Dante’s not sure which Mat he prefers. He thinks it might be the smile, because it feels like a smile Mat barely shares with the world. 

“I missed you too,” Dante says, and it feels like there’s a lump in his throat. This is the absolute worst time for him to have realised all of this, and he feels like he can’t breathe, but the way Mat smiles makes everything better and worse at the same time. 

“I’m glad,” Mat says, but his smile says more than the words do, dazzling in its brightness. Dante kinda wants to die, and kinda wants to bask in that smile being directed only at him in all its intensity. He likes to think that he’s pretty even-keeled as a person, but Mat’s his best friend, and Dante has so many feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“Are you staying for dinner?” Dante asks, because as much as he wants to tell Mat to leave so he can process that he’s pretty much in love with Mat, and then despair because he’s pretty much in love with Mat, he wants Mat to stay that much more. 

Mat looks a little sheepish. “Your mom kinda assumed I was staying the night? Is that okay?”

“I—yeah, dude, of course it’s okay,” Dante says, mostly on autopilot. Internally, he’s screaming. 

The internal screaming never really stops, either. Not through dinner, where Mat keeps knocking their knees together and stealing the food from Dante’s plate, even though they have the exact same things on their plates. Not when they finally go to bed, Mat borrowing Dante’s most worn out BU shirt, looking like he belongs in Dante’s bed. Dante’s exhausted, having stayed up past his bedtime to reset to the new timezone, but he’s also so wired, hyperaware of Mat’s every movement. 

“I can hear you thinking too loud,” Mat says, drowsily, turning to face Dante. 

Dante can’t exactly say that it’s because Mat’s in his bed, so he pulls a face. “Can’t fall asleep.”

“Wanna kiss me till you do?” Mat asks. He’s all sleep-rumpled and soft, and Dante should really be saying no, right now, except he never learned to say no to Mat, and he’s never really wanted to. It would be better for him if he said no.

He doesn’t answer Mat with words, just moves enough to kiss Mat. They don’t go beyond gentle presses of their lips to each other’s, until Mat finally falls asleep. By that time, Dante’s eyes feel heavy too, sliding shut more than staying open, and his Mat crisis feels far away enough that he can fall asleep.

He wakes up to Mat’s face right by his, and his Mat crisis is back in full force, watching Mat sleeping peacefully, his face looking softer than it ever does when he’s awake. Dante can’t help but notice that Mat has really nice eyelashes, and despairs all over again. He’s so fucking dumb; there’s no way this is going to end well, and yet, he doesn’t move to put any distance between him and Mat.

* * *

Dante’s texting Tyson about his plans with Mat for the summer, because it would be nice to see Tyson, it just needs to be fit in between training and camp and Mat. Even though Dante should be drawing away from Mat, Mat’s his best friend first and foremost, and he doesn’t have the self-control to do that, nor does he really want to do that to Mat. And Tyson makes a joke about the boyfriend, which—he knows better, so Dante texts him a ‘cut it out, we aren’t like that’ because he’s not in the mood to deal with all of his Mat feelings today, not when his lower lip still feels phantom soreness from the last time they kissed, and next thing he knows, Tyson’s calling him. 

“What do you mean, you’re not like that?” Tyson asks, the second he picks up. He sounds seriously distressed. “Did you two like, break up and decide to stay friends?”

“No? What the fuck, Josty? Mat and I weren’t ever together in the first place,” Dante says, confused. 

“Cut the fucking bullshit, dude,” Tyson says, sounding annoyed, which. Which.

Dante clutches his phone tightly, his heart racing. He didn’t think he was that obvious; he thought he could get away with no one finding out, but if Tyson thought—and before Dante even realised, too— “Tyson.”

Whatever Tyson was going to say dies in his throat at the desperation in Dante’s voice. What follows is what feels like hours of Tyson taking deep, meditative breaths, and then, calm and mostly controlled, he states, “You and Barz aren’t dating. You two were never dating.”

“Yes?” Dante confirms unsurely. 

Tyson takes another deep breath, like this is a trial for him. “Dante, I hate to be the voice of reason, but you two were constantly making out during World Juniors.”

“Well, yeah,” Dante says, uncomfortable now that he has to explain it. “It’s a thing we do.”

“You make out with each other for fun,” Tyson says, deadpan. 

Dante shrugs even though Tyson can’t see him. “Yeah. Sometimes Mat just gets like that, y’know, and I don’t mind kissing him.”

“No, I don’t know,” Tyson says, in what sounds like disbelief. “Not to break all your delusions or anything, dude, but the last time I saw you kissing was during the pity party and there’s nothing fun about a pity party, even with party in the name. And dude, Barz’s obsessed with you. No one mentioned it because they thought he was pining or whatever, because most of them didn’t see the two of you making out all the time. So maybe just, y’know, reconsider your ‘platonic kissing,’ and also talk to him?”

“I can—I can do that,” Dante hears himself say distantly, hanging up as Tyson says something that sounds an awful lot like ‘good luck.’

His world is tilted on its axis and Dante doesn’t even know what to focus on first—that he was so obvious that Tyson knew Dante liked Mat before Dante knew he liked Mat, or that Tyson, and, apparently, the whole fucking world, thought Mat was pining over Dante. Which is a comical thought, really; Mat isn’t the kind of person who pines. He’s a go-getter; even when his confidence is an act, he still goes for what he wants. And Mat has to know that Dante would never be mean, even if Dante didn’t like him like that, except Dante does, and now he has to do something. 

Dante considers not doing something at all, and living in ignorance, because it still feels a little unbelievable, that he’s more to Mat than his best friend and occasional makeout buddy. But if he does that, if he ignores it, he’s going to keep worrying about it, because now the thought is there, that Mat could love him back. Mat could love him back, and Dante could have him for the rest of his life, and the thought of it makes his breath catch in his throat, he wants it that badly. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything as badly in his life, and that’s the thought that propels him out the door with his car keys, and makes him drive over to Mat’s. 

He sits in his car in their driveway for a bit, trying to work up the courage. Dante doesn’t think Tyson would joke about this, but he does think that Tyson might be reading Mat wrong. Mat isn’t an easy person; he makes his existence performative and couches himself in it, until it’s hard to tell what’s Mat being Mat, and what’s Mat being what Mat thinks he should be. Either way, he’s going to get out of this car, and ask Mat about it, because they’re adults. They can be adults about this. His hands are clammy, and he wipes them on his shorts before finally leaving his car and jogging up to the door. 

Dante knocks on the door, and Mat is the one who answers, and he’s not wearing a shirt, and his face when he realises it’s Dante is painfully cute, so maybe Dante loses track of what he wanted to say, and instead opens up with, “Tyson says you’re obsessed with me.”

Mat’s face blanches, and he takes a half-step back. Holy shit. Holy  _ shit _ , Tyson might actually be right. “Can we talk about this inside?” Mat asks, biting his lip, looking nervous and a little filled with dread and utterly unlike himself in the span of seconds. 

Dante nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything, and so Mat leads them up to his room, and sits cross-legged on his bed, looking like he’s expecting to face a firing squad. Dante’s never seen him like this, never seen him so uncomfortable and anxious.

“You really do  _ like _ me,” Dante says, staring at Mat wide-eyed. 

“I mean, I’d say love more than like, really, but sure, if that’s what you wanna go with?” Mat’s looking down at his lap, hands folded.

“You—how long?” Dante asks, because this is ridiculous, they’re both ridiculous; he’s pretty sure this answer is going to make him want to bang his head against the wall for like. An hour. And Tyson’s going to be so fucking smug, too, but Dante’s—hopefully—going to get Mat, so it’s not even going to matter. 

To his credit, even though Mat’s cheeks are pink and he can’t even look at Dante right now, he doesn’t try to pretend that he doesn’t understand the question. “A while.”

“Mat,” Dante sighs. “Mat, a while can be anything.”

Mat’s smiling wryly, eyes still firmly fixed on his hands. “Like, probably longer than a year. I didn’t really keep track; you’re you.”

Dante’s going to kill him, after he’s done blushing, even though the answer makes him feel so warm. “Mat. Mat, you don’t even know, god, I don’t even know why I love you; I would’ve said yes at any point.”

Mat’s shocked into looking up, and whatever he sees on Dante’s face makes him blush harder than Dante’s ever seen. That makes two of them, considering Dante’s pretty sure you can fry an egg on his face. “You—what?”

“No offence, but like, you didn’t think us kissing each other for literal years was normal behaviour, did you?” Dante asks. “I wanted you any way I could get you, and it’s not just that I’m in love with you, because I really, really am, but I just—I love you. I’d do a whole lot of stupid things to make you happy.”

Mat’s starting to smile now, for the first time since Dante opened his mouth on his front door step. “So if I ask nicely, will you kiss me?”

And okay, they’ve just confessed that they love each other, and Dante’s still flushed, but he rolls his eyes at Mat anyway. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Well, I didn’t think I needed to, but I wanted to,” Mat says, his fading blush back in full force. 

Oh no, that’s sweet. If Mat’s going to be like this all the time, Dante might actually die, but he’ll die happy. He walks up to Mat, straddles his lap, smiles at the way Mat’s arms immediately wrap around his waist. Mat’s looking up at him with disbelief and a little bit of awe, like he can’t believe this is happening. It’s as relatable as it is endearing. Dante runs a thumb across Mat’s lower lip, takes in the almost imperceptible sigh Mat lets out, and finally kisses him. There’s no fireworks when they’re this familiar with each other, but it’s so, so good, anyway, because this time, Dante can let himself feel everything that he wants to. Mostly his heart feels too big for his chest, but he’s almost positive it’s the same for Mat, who may actually just have sighed into their kiss. 

“Did you just sigh?” Dante asks Mat, who’s steadily turning pinker, but hasn’t looked away from Dante yet. So, probably a yes, and that’s—fucking adorable, actually. 

“Cut me a break,” Mat says, his eyes bright, his fingers flexing and bringing Dante just a little closer to him. “It’s—this is a lot. I never thought we’d get here. Or that I’d get this.”

Dante has the sneaking suspicion that Mat might be a romantic. It makes something terribly fond well up inside of him, and whatever his face is doing is making Mat blush even harder, unable to look Dante in the eyes. He’s so cute; Dante doesn’t even try to resist the urge to tip Mat’s chin up and kiss him again. He gets distracted easily; they’ve done this hundreds of times but mostly that means they know exactly how to make each other fall apart.

“Wait,” Mat says breathlessly, his lips against Dante’s jaw. “This means I can call you my boyfriend, right?”

“Only if I can call you mine,” Dante says, and gets to watch Mat’s face transform. He can’t even feel embarrassed at how cheesy that was when Mat’s smiling brighter than the sun. 

They’re both grinning too hard to kiss properly, but that’s okay. Dante’s pretty sure they’ll have plenty of time in the future. 

**Author's Note:**

> -mat deals with his pining by kissing dante and hoping he’ll magically get it. dante deals with it by not getting his hopes up.  
> -i left the dates intentionally vague but this fic spans a year and a half at the very least  
> -after learning about dante’s distaste for jungle juice, mat literally chews gum/uses mouthwash before he kisses dante. dante jokes about it being just for him, but it’s true.  
> -the two of them disappear a lot at wjc to make out? partially bc mat wants the distraction, and partially bc it’s going to be months until they see each other again and this is Their Thing  
> -when mat says it’s been over a year, he specifically means that he’s been in love with dante for over a year. the feelings are older.  
> -mat changes dante's contact to 'forever girl *kiss mark emoji* *two boys holding hands emoji*’ and dante pretends he doesn’t think it’s cute.  
> -these two are childhood friends and it is beautiful  
> -the title is from cash cash's 'tongue twister' which...just came up on youtube one day  
> -i'm @aimeraiwrites on tumblr and @aimerai1419 on twitter


End file.
